Happy With You
by AeriaGloris10
Summary: One cold day, Teresa had some interesting news for Alfred. M for heavy implications. America x OC!Mexico


**Hello, everyone! I'm sorry to say I'm a bit stuck on 'Zero to Hero', but I WILL finish it...eventually...**

**I started working on this ficlet in March, not knowing if I was going to take it all the way or even finish it. What mostly discouraged me was my poor 'pregnancy fic' record from my early days. But now I can finally say it is finished! **

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><p>He hurt her.<p>

He was hurting her.

He was the one making her scream in so much pain.

Alfred used to think of childbirth as something so straightforward and easy. He never prided himself in knowing about it. There were a few hours of labor followed by the safe arrival of a cute little baby. After that he, Teresa, and the baby would live happily ever after.

That was the way it was going until the blood began to flow onto the sheets. Yao had blanched and had Kiku take Alfred out of the room.

The American clutched his head in his hands as he sat outside the room, waiting for a sign that everything had gone well.

…Or bad.

_Eight months before…_

"…Ah wha…S-sorry…C-c-can you say that again? Slower…"

Teresa let out a pained sigh before repeating with exaggerated enunciation, "I am _pregnant_, you deaf idiot."

Oh, yes. He had definitely heard correctly. Yet he still found himself hoping it was a joke. A well-orchestrated joke. Alfred gaped at her mid-chew, his mind finally beginning to process this piece of information. Cursing his traitorous tongue, he wished he could say something besides "uh" or a whine.

This lunch date had been planned by Alfred, but he'd expected the usual resistance when he asked her out. In a stark contrast to her usual behavior, Teresa had agreed readily, sounding almost nervous and eager. He usually let her pick the restaurant, but in her absent-mindedness she picked McDonald's. She realized her mistake too late and Alfred had already ordered half the Dollar Menu for himself.

America readjusted his glasses, which threatened to slip off the bridge of his nose as his stomach rolled and his hands began to feel unbearably cold.

Frowning with distaste, Mexico growled through gritted teeth, "Could you, at the very least, swallow before attempting to talk? I'm already nauseous as it is."

_Nausea…? Oh crap…_

Swallowing the last of his food with some effort, Alfred stared at her, his leg shaking beneath the table, and asked, "…When? I mean…I don't even _remember_ screwing since…November!"

Teresa smirked. "You don't remember either? It was last month, on Christmas Eve, according to Belize. _Francia_ was going around spiking the drinks during the celebration. I let my guard down, and a minute later I was groping that ass of yours."

A rush of heat spread to Alfred's face. He indeed remembered _that_ incident.

America had been quite tipsy that night, slurring through a conversation with a completely inebriated England (After all, he _was_ celebrating the Prince's recent engagement).

Next thing he knew he felt a sharp sting on his ass and turned to find a flushed, grinning Mexico. He smirked at England victoriously and wrapped his free arm around his southern neighbor, her hand still on his butt. "Hey, doll! Merry freakin' Christmas!"

She laughed lewdly, slipping into Spanish. "_Ay, güero. Tienes un trasero pero que si lindisimo…"_

He held her stumbling form closer, shouting in Arthur's face, "FYI, Artie! She thinks my ass is-"

"I undershtand Shpaniss, Alfred! I did have a Catherine queen…and defeated a big, whole…Phillip armada thing…"

With that, Arthur fell onto the nearest couch (nearly suffocating a silent Canada). Mexico giggled uncontrollably and pulled America away from the party.

What followed was probably the wildest sex they had ever had.

Too bad neither one remembered it.

Heat made its home in Alfred's face as he recollected snatches of what happened that night. "…Damn…" Suddenly he wasn't so hungry anymore. His throat seemed to have closed permanently, making him feel sick. Alfred suddenly wanted to run away and hide out in Montana.

The weary look on her face brought him to a halt. The warm color had drained from her face, and there were circles beneath her rich brown eyes. Her meal of chicken nuggets was completely untouched.

Alfred knew enough to recognize morning sickness. He immediately stood and walked to her, offering his hand to her. Teresa raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with bewilderment.

Clearing his throat, the younger nation mumbled, "Let's get out of here, baby…I'll take you home."

He could hear her painful swallow, as well as the deep breaths she took in an effort to control her nausea. He noticed with a bit of humor how her leg shook under the table. Alfred breathed along with her patiently, trying to comfort her. When she finally took his hand, she got to her feet and leaned against him. He encircled her shivering shoulders with his arm, warding off the cold that her coat and a double-layer of pants couldn't handle.

"I…I'm going to keep it, okay?"

"I know. I mean…I want it too."

She scoffed. "Well, _that_ is certainly encouraging!"

Alfred could still feel her immense pride even though she was depending on him at the moment. He drove them back, one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. Teresa had closed her eyes in an attempt to relax, but still squeezed back when Alfred did.

Five minutes in he had to pull over. Her dark eyes opened, widening with fear when she saw Alfred leaning his head against the steering wheel. "Alfred?"

An overwhelming fear overtook him. Thousands of questions spun in his head as he tried to sort them all. What if he did something wrong? Would he lose all love for her, or vise versa? What kind of a father would he be? Even he had to admit that he was never the best son. He, who relished violence, power and victory, could not possibly be a _father_.

Alfred struggled to take a breath, his throat painfully dry and both legs shaking. He felt Teresa's soft weight as she laid a soothing hand on his heaving back. "_Shh…Ya, ya…Aqui estoy, mi amor…"_

_She's a perfect mother…What the hell am I supposed to be?_

She had even mothered _him _at some point, for God's sake! When his mother was not around, America and Canada were fed, bathed and clothed by the older empire.

He didn't even notice his glasses slipping off his nose onto his lap. "Terry, I…I'm s-sorry, I just…"

Her soft-rough hands brought his tense one to her belly, letting him feel her breathing.

Something snapped in his head at the feel of her clothed stomach. Alfred imagined touching her perfectly rounded belly, and feeling a baby moving within. _Their _baby.

His breathing calmed down enough for him to let out a hoarse chuckle. He grinned at the thought. His son or daughter. A child he could play baseball with everyday and take to the movies every Saturday.

His breathless laughter startled Teresa until she too began to join him. He straightened and took her in his arms, kissing her exposed neck as she squealed in delight.

_Five months ago…_

It took a while before America could convince Mexico to move in with him. It took even longer for her to say 'yes' to his marriage proposal.

Alfred's rational side understood Teresa's fears (after all, he had had a reputation as an imperialist), but he awaited her answer impatiently for an entire week.

If she hadn't loved him so much, she wouldn't have signed her name to the document that made them husband and wife. No one else knew, yet. So far Mexico had been able to hide her swelling belly with a jacket. But a sudden marriage would be difficult to explain, particularly to their respective bosses, and Canada. Alfred knew Mattie would kill him for not mentioning that he was marrying their mother-figure.

As soon as her jeans began to tighten around her waist, she had Alfred drive her to the mall for maternity clothes. It was during one of these outings that they ran into France…

"Oh shit, it's him!"

Teresa let out a choked exclamation and attempted to pull Alfred into an electronics store while he tried to pull her inside a shoe store.

"Get your fat ass in here, Alfred!"

"No no NO! He'll expect-"

Too late. The sharp-eyed Frenchman had spotted them.

"_Mon Dieu! _Of all places I run into you two, it has to be in front of a…" His lively eyes had blinked up at the sign bearing the name of the particular store. "…maternity clothing store?"

Alfred groaned inwardly. Francis was the _last_ person he wanted to know about Teresa's pregnancy. He tried to stammer an explanation, "See, France, what it is…I've been lettin' myself go, uh…y'know, cause of winter, and all…"

But the older nation was already smiling like a loon, giggling madly, "_Un petit bébé!_ This is such a happy occasion!" He then took Teresa's free hand and placed a chaste, congratulatory kiss on it. "So, when were you two lovers planning on sharing this news with everyone?"

The Mexican laughed uneasily, and then shifted her gaze to the food court behind France. "…I am _starving!_ Alfred, I'm going to get myself some ice cream. Excuse me, Francis, but Alfred will explain _everything._"

America watched in horror as his wife walked off, a 'have fun' look in her eyes. Left alone with the bags, he sputtered out, "_Don'tyouleavemewithhim_-"

"_Oui, Amerique!_ Tell me _everything _that has happened! But first, I believe congratulations are in order." Francis made to grasp Alfred's free _left_ hand.

"France, hang on a-"

The Nation of Love immediately spied the gold band on America's finger. His face turned serious as his blue eyes gazed at the ring.

Alfred felt unusually vulnerable under that gaze. _Crap, the frog's gonna tell everyone! Spain's gonna throw tomatoes at me! Artie's gonna want me to get a divorce!_ Thousands of unsavory scenarios went through his mind.

France pulled away, letting his hand go before saying softly, "I suppose…I owe you many more congratulations…You will, as you say, do right by her, _oui?_"

The younger man replied defensively, "You're damn right I will! It wasn't just because of the baby, either…I've thought about it for a while, but I kept thinking she'd say no." He had no idea how his feelings for her would've been affected if Teresa had flat out refused. Now he was just glad she had accepted.

The Frenchman chuckled softly and said, "You truly have no idea how lucky you are. _Mexique_ has always been such a headstrong nation, and so many of us were eager to take Antonio's place. Even I could not succeed." He placed his hands on Alfred's broad shoulders, continuing, "So you had better prepare to prove yourself worthy of her, _Amerique_."

Surprised into silence, Alfred could only nod. It was rare to see France acting so…rational and serious (like Artie!).

France finally clapped his hands together and proclaimed, "It is settled then! So, how is she in bed?"

"Dude!"

"Oh, don't blush like a schoolgirl, _mom ami_! Pregnancy does some beautiful things to a woman's hormones…Might as well let your wife take you to heaven!"

Alfred glared at the nation, trying to hide the affirmation in his face.

France was completely right. Once she had gotten over the worst of the morning sickness, Teresa had become insatiable. The changes in mood hit her violently, possibly because of the instability in her country. There were days she would throw chairs and cooking utensils at him, followed by days when she would apologize profusely or jump his bones.

He never thought he'd find himself complaining about sex, but as of late Alfred was getting exhausted. The first few times he had been happy to oblige every single one of Teresa's whims. She'd wrap her arms around his waist from behind and cup him through his pants. It was enough to make him stop whatever the hell he was doing, take her in his arms and just undress her right then and there.

Mexico's kisses were simultaneously gentle and demanding. America would kiss her back fervently as his hands roamed her changing body. Her skin was soft and responsive to his fingers and mouth. Her scars were invisible in the shadow of her growing womb, and Alfred thought she was _gorgeous_. The very thought of satisfying her wants made the blood rush to his cock.

But there were nights he just wanted to sleep next to her, too tired to do anything else.

One night during the seventh month he made the mistake of letting her know about his predicament. "Terry…Y'know I'm not the type of guy to complain about sex…I mean, I _love_ sex, especially with you…But seriously, I'm _dead tired_."

She had been halfway through kissing his collarbone when he said that, but looked up at him with hurt in her brown eyes. The sight made Alfred regret what he had said.

"Oh, I understand…You think I'm fat and hideous!" The expectant woman pushed herself away from him and ran towards the bathroom, locking herself inside.

Alfred let his arms fall to his sides, cursing his tongue and Teresa's rampant hormones. "Baby…! I didn't mean it that way!" He got up and softly knocked on the bathroom door. "I'm sorry! Come on, you know you've got a rocking body!"

He heard her sob, "Just leave me alone, _pendejo!_"

America winced at the curse, but held his ground. "Besides, there's a big difference between being fat and being pregnant! Right now, you're the sexiest thing in the world to me. You're my wife and you're carrying _our_ baby!"

There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of footsteps on tile. The door opened an inch, Teresa's weary face peering at him apprehensively. "Do you really think I still look…okay?"

Alfred hid his sigh of relief and nodded. "Yeah…You're beautiful, babe."

Mexico smiled and came out, laying her forehead on Alfred's chest as he hugged her. "I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch, Alfred…I'm just…so mixed up…"

The American let his hand rest on her round belly, feeling as their child kicked with a strength that awed him. "I don't blame you. I'd be pissy too if I had to carry that around for nine months."

Teresa's laugh was melodic. She stood on her toes to kiss her husband's nose and whispered, "Let's go to bed…We'll just 'cuddle,' as you call it…"

Alfred smirked, kissing her so gently. Her lips opened and she twined her tongue with his. It felt so right and perfect, Alfred wanted to melt right there.

As they lay in bed together, the blankets tangled around their legs, Alfred watched as Teresa slept peacefully. Her breasts rose with her breathing, and he still had one hand on her protruding stomach. Alfred could feel the movement inside, and it never ceased to make him marvel. Only two months until he finally held that little miracle in his arms.

Everyone had been supportive, even that stuffy old Arthur. There was no shortage of advice, especially sexual, and _that_ was mostly from France. Canada smiled, so happy that the two were finally together after centuries of separation and pure stubbornness. On the day that they revealed their pregnancy and marriage, Alfred had been more than a bit surprised when Spain himself shook his hand in congratulations.

Antonio had glanced at Teresa and the womb she cradled longingly but seemed to gracefully accept his defeat.

The world was dying to meet the result of two bordering countries coming together. What would it look like? What language would it speak? Would his or her eating habits come from America or Mexico?

The questions raced through Alfred's mind as he fell into a sleep filled with dreams of babies and endless diaper changes. _Two more months…_

Now he was outside the delivery room, listening to her terrified whimpers and Kiku's calming words.

The blue scrubs he wore over his normal t-shirt and jeans were stifling, but Alfred didn't dare take them off in case they wanted him back in there. He licked his lips, dry with thirst. It was five minutes before he noticed that his leg was shaking.

Why the fuck couldn't he stop hurting her? Why did it have to be _his_ child's delivery that was causing her trouble?

Arizona had been a point of hardship for them, adding stress to their relationship. He wanted immigration reform! Of course he did! She wanted to stop the drug lord from causing trouble both in and out of Mexico!

They had always argued. Every nation argued. Especially America. But why did the two of them have to lash out at each other like vipers? Politically and personally? They were bordering nations!

Was all this causing Teresa to bleed out?

Was he going to lose her?

Alfred couldn't bear to think that far. He loved Teresa. He loved Mexico. Fuck the arguments. He wanted her beside him. He wanted to raise their baby…

The door opened. Yao came out, relief in his brown eyes. Alfred jumped to his feet and asked anxiously, "Is she okay? What happened?"

China smiled and said, "It went well! It was just a little scare-aru. We stopped the bleeding in time, but she still needed a transfusion-aru. Come in and see your boy." He turned to let America inside. Something was squalling loudly.

The words took a few seconds to sink in. "A…a boy?" He went in, not knowing what he would see.

Teresa was lying back in the bed, looking exhausted and pale, but alive. Her brown eyes were staring at Kiku's back. Japan was holding something in his arms, mumbling quietly to himself. The young woman turned when Alfred entered and lovingly smiled, "Hey, _guapo_…I missed you…"

Alfred laughed softly with relief and went to her side, taking the hand without the needle in it. "Are you okay? I thought…" He swallowed, his glasses threatening to slip off his nose. "I didn't know what…"

Her fingers touched his lips. "I'm tired, but perfectly fine. You'll not get rid of me that easily, _güero_." Her brown eyes still had that stubborn spark in them. America hugged her with one arm, careful not to hurt her.

Japan turned towards them, a small smile on his face. "Alfred-san. Tere-san. Your son is 8 pounds and 9 ounces. Quite a big boy." He finally let them see the whimpering bundle and then placed it in Teresa's waiting arms. He joined Yao outside.

Alfred held his breath as he looked into his son's face.

He had the red skin of newborns. His dark brown hair was thick, with one small tuft sticking out like his father's. His round eyes were the same sky-blue as Alfred's, and were darting around the room restlessly.

America let out an awed breath. "Wow…You did it…" His finger gently touched his son's soft cheek, and he watched as the boy turned towards the disturbing digit. He pulled one small arm from the blue blanket and swatted at Alfred's hand.

Teresa giggled as the battle between her son and her husband's hand went on. "Did you have any ideas for names?"

Alfred frowned in thought. "Well, I was kind of leaning towards naming him…_Indiana_?"

Mexico stared at him as though he had been stricken with the plague. "Are you insane?"

The young man began to beg, "Aw, come on, Terry! It's destiny! His last name is gonna be Jones! It's a sin not to name him after the greatest explorer ever!"

But the southern nation shook her head. "I refuse to name my son after a fictional character or any of your states!"

Alfred pouted, giving up. "Fine. What's your bright idea?"

She smiled as she cradled the infant in her arms. "Ricardo Jones." Teresa smirked at Alfred. "That's right, I know about your little 'I Love Lucy' obsession."

Pumping his fist in victory, Alfred surprised her by taking her by the shoulders and pressing his lips to hers. Teresa squeaked in surprise then sank into America's embrace as tongue traced her lips apart. He was gentle, making sure not to overwhelm her or crush the baby between them. In a few minutes they came apart, the flush back in Mexico's face.

"Sh-shouldn't you tell the…o-others?"

He loved that after all this time they still had the ability to leave each other speechless. "You've got it, mamacita!"

_Four months later._

Life later went back to normal…a bit.

After long days in meetings with the rest of the world and with their respective leaders, Alfred and Teresa would enjoy peaceful nights with Ricky. America would lift his giggling son into the air, rejoicing in the sound of the boy's happiness. "Look how high up you are, Ricky! You're a born pilot, just like your daddy!" Ricky would crow with delight, trying to reach for his father's glasses.

He loved to watch Teresa sing to him, Ricky nestling his sleepy face into her shoulder as she sang her lullabies. They didn't want to fall into the habit of letting him sleep in bed with them, but there were nights that Alfred and Teresa slept with their son between them, having spent the evening watching his moods change.

They loved how every time Arthur came over with food (of all things!) he would wrinkle his little nose and reach for his mother in terror. England would glare at the child and yell, "For God's sake, it's happening all over again!"

They loved Ricky's reactions to each country that he met. When Feliciano held him, all the while singing to him in Italian, the boy clapped along as though it were a game. When he was with Japan, the island nation would end up exhausted trying to think of ways to entertain America and Mexico's boisterous offspring. Hungary and Ukraine let out the _loudest_ squeals when they caught sight of Ricky, eager to pinch his cheeks.

One night, Alfred returned home pushing Ricky in his stroller. He was about to drop dead from exhaustion. Congress was still trying to resolve the national debt, and that was a bit hard when the flesh-and-blood nation was running around with an infant that needed changing every three hours. What could he do? It was his week to take Ricky to work, a pattern that would go on until he was old enough to be schooled by the other nations.

Teresa arrived five minutes later, looking as though she hadn't slept in a month. She sank onto the couch next to Alfred, bringing her legs up to rest on his lap. "If I have to hear about _narco_-_corridos_ one more time, I'm going to unleash Ricky on them…"

Their son was on the floor, biting the flipper of a stuffed dolphin his father had brought him. His blue eyes gazed at the two tired adults, wondering if they were ever going to pick him up.

He got on all fours and crawled towards them, his lips quietly forming the words they would say whenever they pointed at themselves. Thinking hard, he looked at his father first.

"Da…Da!"

Alfred's eyes shot open. Had he heard right? He straightened and looked at Ricky, who was staring at him expectantly. "Ricky…was that you?"

He heard Teresa whisper, "It _was_…!"

The boy smiled and repeated, "Da-da!"

All exhaustion left Alfred in that instant. Teresa lifted her legs off his lap and let him get up to pick Ricky up. He hugged their son close to him, burying his face in his head. Teresa hugged them both, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. "_Bien hecho, _Ricky! Mama and Da-da love you very much!"

America held Ricky in one arm and Mexico in the other. It was moments like these that made him believe everything would be all right. Somehow everyone could be content and at peace.

Ricky babbled nonsensically, knowing that he had done something to make his parents happy.

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><p><strong>Amerixico...Mexrica...Yeah, I try have fun failing at making up a "nation" name for Ricky. <strong>

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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